I think I'm ready to quit. I think I've tried really hard to help you. I was somewhat understanding when you demanded that I get letters out on a Sunday morning. Because hey, even though the Post Office is closed and those letters won't get sent until Monday morning, they absolutely must be ready on Sunday-freaking-morning. OK. So maybe I wasn't all that understanding. But you get the point. You did finally concede that it was probably the wrong time to get them out. But only after I sent you a few passive aggressive murderous looks while typing away on the computer, listening to the children run wild, and thinking about the nasty breakfast dishes that were awaiting me while I worked on your letters.
But this? This is just downright obnoxious. You ask me complete a relatively important task, but you only give me part of the information required. You want me to figure it out on my own. Because apparently it's important that I keep my brain functioning. Which would be fine. If I had four hours to figure it out on my own. Four hours where I wasn't listening to one or both of my children yell that they wanted to play games, pee on the floor, pee in the potty, eat an ice cream, or just to please, please, please put down the computer because they hate the computer. But frankly, I'll be damned if I spend so many precious hours on a project that you will toss when I show it to you because it's not what you wanted. It's called training, dude. And I could use a little bit of it. I don't throw my kids off the deep end to teach them how to swim.
And honey, if you want a letter. Say L-E-T-T-E-R. If you want a form. Say F-O-R-M. No more of these amorphous emails. Clarity. That's where the law is headed. Embrace it. Practice it. Love it. For the love of God, and your tired, slightly overwhelmed wife.
Seriously? I don't want to quit. And I do want to help. But I've got two active kids, a house that doesn't clean itself, breakfasts, lunches, and dinners to cook, laundry to do, school meetings to attend, carpool to do all by myself (because YOU conveniently planned early meetings all week). I just don't have the time to figure out what you want. Just freaking tell me. Spell it out. I know you've got a ton of work to do too, but we'll be a bigger help to each other if we aren't resentful.
OK. Rant over.
This was the first week of school. Hallelujah. Sunshine was ready. I was ready. I think that I must have repressed the memory of what school mornings could be like though. And it's not over arguments about clothing or hairstyle. Sunshine and I? We just move at two different rates of speed. And I hate to be late.
We're turning Ladybug's world upside down. Last week it was the sippy cups. They're gone. Every single one of them. Really, she just got in the habit of losing them, or hiding them for me to find later, usually still filled with congealed milk. But we've been freed. And Ladybug has been tethered to the kitchen table. Well, she is if she wants something to drink. This week though, it's the diapers. If I've any hope of Ladybug being ready for school in January, it's time. Of course these changes are exponentially increasing the amount of mopping and laundry I'm doing. Fabulous. No matter what I do I create work for myself.
First day of school goodness. Sunshine is thrilled to go. Ladybug wants to go so badly. Soon.